


Like Mine, Like Hers

by maxsaystowrite



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, i don't know how to tag don't ask me, uh this is big sad so just warning, you ever have to tag a character by a name you don't call them cause like ew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23844598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxsaystowrite/pseuds/maxsaystowrite
Summary: "I gave up the sight of his face for his life, and I would have lost more for the same"- Bloodwater Ballad, Ronnie Fukuda.There was no choice Eric Delano made. He knew with the birth of his son that he needed to get out. He needed to make sure his son grew up safe. Eric had to quit anyway he could.
Relationships: Eric Delano/Mary Keay
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	Like Mine, Like Hers

**Author's Note:**

> Ah! This is the fic! The very very sad Eric fic! 
> 
> If you're here and haven't listened to Bloodwater Ballad by Ronnie Fukuda (@gerrydelano on Tumblr) please please please please go listen to it, it's amazing! Especially if you need more sad Eric and Gerry feels! (and who doesn't?)

Eyes were everywhere in the Institute. In the marbled lobby, a portrait of the found leered down at all who entered. The blue of his eyes followed you through your tour or meeting. Jonah Magnus and his gaze lingered even far beyond the confines of the Institution. If you were unlucky enough, they'd follow you home, a new infestation you couldn't call an exterminator for. 

There were paintings of Eyes through the halls, abstract like feminine flowers or glowing halos. The receptionist had a hamsa with a bejeweled evil eye. The archives had Margaret Keane's collection scattered about so when you turned any corner, there was a child with big, wide eyes peering into you. False Mirror by René Magritte was watching them in the break room. 

James Wright, with his eerie light eyes, had a tie pin with what looked to be an evil eye. Though it was always strange that a staunchly Christian man would have any spiritual symbol other than a cross. 

And then Gertrude started scratching them out. One by one, every eye in the place torn to shreds.

Eric only wished it was so simple when he started his search. There would have been less heartache.

It was a knife in the end, he tried to think of anything less daunting. But spoons would be too soft and wouldn’t destroy them as he wanted. Acid might blind him but there was a security in them being gone beyond repair. Eric didn’t think so highly of himself that Wright would want to repair  _ his _ eyes. He was just cautious.

The knife was an old paring knife. Eric bought it because he realized they didn’t have one. It was scattered in a bag with baby bottles and disposable diapers. While unpacking, Mary raised an eyebrow.  _ “I thought we needed one. Just in case he wants to pare something someday. We ought to have one.”  _ She gave a small smile as she laughed at him.

Eric remembered that he hasn’t seen her smile since. He had only seen it a few times and now he was resigned to never see it again. He wished he had a photo to study before he went through with it. Mary never smiled though. Not for their wedding or at their son.

Their son, he knew by heart. Three years old and already learning how to read. He knew all his letters and made sure Eric did too. Even the funky letters that Eric didn’t recognize, he learned with diligence so he and Gerry could know their ABC’s together. 

The last day he saw either of them, Mary was taking Gerry to her shop for the day. He watched them leave the house, Mary barely looking over her shoulder to say goodbye while she pulled Gerry along by his hand. Gerry waved furiously with his free hand as he was dragged through the door. 

_ “Bye-bye, Daddy!” _ he called and the lump in Eric’s throat fell into his stomach. He thanked anyone listening for the blessing of Gerry’s voice. Eric could still hear him. That soft sweet voice won’t have to leave his ears. 

When the door clicked shut, Eric went to his bag, pulling out one of the joints he bought off Bouchard. The file clerk always wreaked of weed and cheap body spray to cover it up. Eric thought it would help with the pain so he bought what he could off of him. Bouchard gave him four in total, and still had some left to smoke outside.

Eric passed around a blunt with Elias. When Eric went in before he left completely, Elias called out  _ “See you around, Delano.” _

_ “Yeah, see you around.” _

The blunt was small and packed a punch. His anxiety was ironed out into a thin flat line that buzzed in his veins. He guessed it could also be melting into adrenaline or nerves, his body knowing what was about to happen. A warning, his flight reflexes kicking in. It was hard to fight. Maybe The Eye in him was pulling away so it wouldn’t be hurt.

Eric’s fingers were shaking, joints weak, and hollow. It was harder than he thought. And then, he remembered his whole reason for doing this.

“He has blond hair and grey eyes. He has your nose and her smile. If she smiled. He has blond hair and grey eyes. He has your nose, and her smile, if she ever smiled. He has-”

Eric chanted this as he stared down his family’s paring knife. Eric chanted this through the screaming pain. He was able to whisper it through the second eye. He focused everything on the pain he already had. It only worked because his mind was so distracted. Racing with thoughts of his son. As his vision bled from colors to red to black his mind scrapped for the exact picture he was describing. He thought of his little boy smiling up at him.

That was his preferred thought, the idling thing in his mind flicked to when it was thinking about anything at all. Gerry was his preferred screensaver.

Eric cleaned himself up as best he could, even darling to take a shower, turn right down the hall and first door on the right before Mary and Gerry came home. He didn’t know what the floor looked like and he didn’t really care.

The watcher’s grip slipped away from him. He felt it in his shoulders, a pressure was gone from around his neck, the Eyes gaze that sat at the base of his spine faded away. Wright didn’t care about him anymore. He received Eric’s resignation and accepted it without two weeks’ notice. The Beholding thought he was useless. Eric smiled at that. A laugh even bubbled up from his belly.

_ “Serves you right.” _

When Mary came home it was dark throughout the house, the sun had gone down and there was no need for lights with a blind man. She looked him over, the dark oozing holes where his eyes were specifically, and she was quiet. Gerry was asleep in her arms. If she had any sort of expression besides pure disinterest, it was lost on him.

“Why have you done this?” She asked. Her voice was steady, nonchalant, uncaring. Mary’s cold and clinical tone still prominent. Like when he made her dinner or surprised her at the shop. Mary didn’t like surprises but was adept at handling them.

“I did it for  _ you _ . For Gerry. I did it for our family! I’ve quit the institute this way. I-I can take care of Gerry full time and I won’t be attached to any voyeur who wants nothing but to watch us and our  _ child _ sleep. With this, without the binds, I can be fully yours and Gerry’s.

“Uh-huh,” Eric heard, cold and dismissive, and a chill clawed its way down his spine. 

Though he’d never admit it, he’d never acknowledged the thought, Eric knew he was on borrowed time.

“Let me tuck him in, please, Mary.”

She didn’t say anything to him. He was half convinced she walked past him without a sound. And then she took his hand and it was the gentlest contact they’ve ever had. She led him towards their son and he felt his familiar weight in his arms. Gerry didn’t stir much. Eric thought he was just comforted by the constant touch.

Eric placed him over his shoulder, hugging him as close as possible to his chest. Gerry reached as far as he could around Eric’s neck. His fingers locked in a stretching knot so he held on as tight as he could. He smooshed his face into Eric’s shoulder, pressing into him. Gerry wanted to feel his nose flatten, give his eyes a heavy pressure. He missed Eric when they were gone. Like a cat, he rubbed his face completely on Eric.

“I know, Luv,” Eric said to his mushy child. “We’re getting you to bed now, I promise,”

“‘M not sleepy,” Gerry mumbled in his ear.

“Of course not. We’ll get you all comfy in your Danger Mouse pajamas and then stay up all night. That sound alright?”

“‘Mkay.”

Eric took Gerry into his room, the last door at the very end of the hall, and laid him down onto his toddler bed, to the far left against the wall. It was harder than he thought, finding the pajamas. Of course, he knew where they were, dresser to the right and top left drawer, but the problem, he found, was the pattern. He couldn’t feel the pattern. Eric didn’t know what the Danger Mouse Pajamas felt like. 

His stomach dropped suddenly as he felt the familiar sensation of The Eye creeping on his back. Eric never felt a difference before, but everything was heightened now. Wright had a different way of watching than Mary. She was watching him silently from the hall. He didn’t know it was brought on by her too. The eye bore into him, through her hungry eyes. A different kind of watcher. And then Eric knew it was all for not.

_ The Eye is in his veins, like mine, like hers. _

With pajamas, he didn’t know if they were Danger Mouse, Eric dressed Gerry for bed and tucked him in.

“Daddy, I want a story,” Gerry said to him. “Read me a story.”

Eric swallowed hard and the Eye burned hot on the back of his neck.

“I can tell you a story. But daddy can’t read any more stories to you.”

Gerry blinked up at his father, the light wasn’t on in here either. The only light was from the pale moon shining in, lighting up the carpet. He couldn’t see the red of his eyes.

“Why not?”

“Daddy’s eyes are hurt. I can’t… I can’t read anymore.”

Gerry’s brow knitted together and his mouth opened with questions that didn’t come. He stirred, crawling out of his bed and to the floor. “Gerry!” Eric called, turning towards the pitter-patter of his tiny feet. There was the flapping of paper books then more footsteps. Eric felt Gerry crawl back into bed right next to him.

“If you can’t read, then I’ll read for you.” There was the turning of pages and small, frustrated whines. “This is the story of Peter Pan,” A picture book they had in his pile. One he heard many times. “There was three kids in London with a dog for a mommy. Peter Pan came in and took them to Neverland! They saw mermaids and Indians and pirates and fairies and tinker bell and a alligator with the clock in his tummy and they all lived happily ever after the end.”

Gerry snapped the book closed without having turned any pages and tossed it away. He stood on the bed and put his hands on either side of Eric’s face.

“Okay, story’s over, good night.” He said before pulling Eric down by his ears and kissing his forehead.

Eric couldn’t help but smile at his son. Soft and kind and so willing to help. He scooped him up in a hug and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Alright kiddo, promise to read to me tomorrow too?”

“Promise.”

Gerry pulled his covers out so he could crawl under them. Eric felt for the ends and pulled it up to Gerry’s chin. He leaned down for one more kiss, awkward and off on the far side of his eye.

Eric waded through the room to the door. Her steady breath near, but he didn’t run into her. As he walked towards their bedroom, two doors down on the left, he felt the walls and counted.  _ One _ , he could still hear her. She was in front of him. She had to be walking backward as he moved forwards towards their bed. He wondered if this was fun for her. Was she smiling finally when he couldn’t ever see it? Was she laughing at him again? Did she like wounded prey?  _ Two _ , he turned into the room.

The next day was normal, as normal as it could be. It was almost easy, he already knew their home so well, he knew where sharp corners were and precisely where he kept his pots and pans and dry goods. His clothes neatly folded away exactly where he placed them. The Eye looming behind him.

Nothing changed. For a week, nothing changed. The stillness that came from waiting sank further into his bones. The dread pulled at his skin, trying to make him paranoid, trying to get him to do anything at all. Eric simply shrugged it off, like he did most things. Mary wasn’t circling him. Gerry was reading to him. Mary’s been taking Gerry every day to the shop. Eric would get a bedtime story.

Time didn’t mean much without the rays of the sun to welcome. But a three-year-old needs a schedule. Eric woke up to his alarm, showering, and dressing. His neatly folded clothes were running low. 

Eric now woke Gerry up before breakfast, asking with a whisper meant for early morning. “Want to help me make breakfast?” And Gerry gave him a smile he couldn’t see. 

“Yeah.”

They went to the kitchen hand in hand. Gerry led him in excitement, bumping Eric into end tables and the couch. Eric took the blows in stride.  _ He’ll be better at it when he’s older. _

“I need the eggs and some butter,” Eric told Gerry, reaching for the pans hanging on the wall.

“And cheese!” Gerry yelled, head in the fridge getting the package and egg carton. 

Eric laughed. “How could I forget?” He felt for the stove, the burners, then the knobs, turning,  _ tck, tck, foosh! _ He placed the pan on the burner before anyone could get burned. Gerry, arms full, balanced the eggs on his arm as he reached for Eric’s hand, placing them on the ingredients.

“Thank you, Luv, you’re such a good helper,” Eric said, reaching for his head and giving his hair a small tousle. His fingers lingered on the soft strands.

_ He has blond hair and grey eyes and your nose, _ Eric’s own chant thundered in his ears. 

“Are there any shells in here?” Eric asked, bringing the bowl to eye level for Gerry.

“Nope!” He said.

“See! I’m getting better at this,” Eric said. “ You don’t like crunchy eggs, so I’m not making them!”

“Ew! Crunchy scrambled eggs!” Gerry said, his nose scrunching up as he stuck his tongue out.

“They’re my favorite! Why do you think I always make them for you?” Eric laughed.

“I don’t like them!”

Eric gasped dramatically. “Well then! I’ll just have to eat these all myself!” Eric took a fork out of the drawer, top drawer, and middle right slot, and dug it into the pan, taking a bite for himself. “Mmmmm! Crunchy eggs! My favorite!”

“I want some!”

“Nope! These are crunchy eggs! You said you didn’t like them!” Eric took another bite, ignoring the burning on his tongue.

“I want them! I want them!”

Eric smiled. “Sit down for me and I’ll give you some.” 

Gerry ran to his seat, scratching the chair against the tile and shifting in it. Eric reached for a plastic plate, far left cabinet bottom shelf, and scooped what he could onto the plate. He sank his hand to the knobs and clicked off the burner with his free hand. He went to Gerry and placed the plate in front of him.

“You know, I do know a trick to getting them soft, not crunchy.”

“What is it!?”

“You just need to blow on them real hard. Then the shells will get soft, okay? You think you can handle that?”

“Yeah! I can!”

Gerry took in a deep breath and began a long, hard stream of air to blow the eggshells away.

“Wow, Luv! Look at that! They’ve gone all soft!” Eric stood and placed a kiss at the top of his head. Gerry giggled under him.

_ And her smile. He has her smile. _

Eric was going over the alphabet with Gerry when he heard her. “I’m going out!” Mary called before slamming the door shut.

Eric lifted his chin to hear her, listening carefully. The door locked behind her.

“I guess it’s just us today,” Eric said.

“Can I watch cartoons? Mum never lets me. I don’t want to read.”

“Sure thing. If we can find them, we’ll watch them.”

It was still early, they were able to catch a few blocks of colorful, fast-moving cartoons. Some Danger Mouse, Cracker Jack, bleeding into Double Dare and another game show Eric couldn’t catch the name of. 

They were on the couch together, Gerry tucked under his arm, their breathing in sync. Slow and calm. There was no Eye here. No ceaseless watcher. Just a father and his son. No shark circling them. Just quality time. There could be no fear here, in their family home. They couldn’t be seen here. They could be safe in these walls that were made to contain them.

Eric pulled at the strands of Gerry's thin blond hair until nightfall. There was still no sign of Mary. She hadn't come home. She hadn't called. She normally wouldn't be gone for so long. She's never left them alone together for this amount of time. 

When the tv told him it was ten pm, Eric turned it off, scooping an already sleeping Gerry up to bed. He peeled back the covers and tucked him in tight. Eric bent down and kissed his forehead expertly. 

"You owe me a bedtime story, kid." 

Eric listened for a moment. The house was as still as ever, pregnant waiting was heavy in the air.  _ It's just Mary _ , Eric told himself.  _ I'm just waiting for her. _

Their bed was cold without her. Mary was a space heater, boiling Eric alive every night. And oh how he loved to feel her radiating next to him. She burned his skin even with her preferred distance. We wished he was able to fall asleep without her heat but after years of melting, he didn't know how to just be. 

He heard her first. She was quiet, of course. She had always been quiet. Her breathing was slow and steady and focused. Mary didn't focus on him. Never in their years had she ever paid that much attention to him. There was no shock at the idea of her killing him, it actually felt like an inevitability. Death do us part was a goal and a promise. 

Eric felt like he was leaking as blood rose from and out of his chest. He tasted blood one last time and he only wished she had kissed him too. His ears reverberated for something from her. He wanted to hear one more thing from her.  _ I'm sorry, I love you, I'll miss you, Eric.  _ Any of it would have been fine. Any of it would have made this worth it. 

His thoughts wandered as his mind weakened. Eric thought of the bedroom at the end of the hall and a faint twinge of hope moved his heart and he coughed up red all over his chin. He hoped Gerry was still asleep and stayed asleep, and Mary was quiet enough and  _ considerate  _ enough to not wake him. 

Mary was a silent killer, probably a silent disposer. Not even a wail of a wife without a husband, a son now without a father. His chest dropped when he couldn't bring himself to be surprised. 

  
  


Death aches. Death is so much more painful than Eric thought it would be. He thought there would be nothingness or a stop. He wished he stopped. Instead, his bones and skin felt hollow, like arthritis locked up every part of him. His back burned and his chest oozed, though he didn't have a chest. He knew he was still  _ leaking. _

Death felt like an eternity already. The painful nothingness had already consumed him and churned him. He thought that his hell was half over when a fire was set under his feet. Eric went up in smoke and then he could see again. 

Eric's eyes fell on Mary and his body. She set him up at the perfect angle so he could see everything. He smiled at her. She kept her bored expression. 

"Never thought I'd see you again," Eric said. Mary turned her back to him, moving towards his body. "You know, because of the blinding and all. The murder was also gonna pose a problem." Eric laughed at his own joke, waiting for a response. He shuffled on his feet that felt no weight. 

"Did you know I'd get my sight back? Is that why you did it?" A horrible crunching noise came from what Eric thought was his leg. "Do you know what you're doing?"

Mary snapped her head towards him and glared at him. Another crack came from the other leg, and from an arm, and the other arm. Eric winced with every noise. 

"Alright, alright you've made your point!" Eric called. "Do I have to stand here and watch you desecrate my corpse? Or can I go see my son?"

Mary straightened up for a moment, taking her time to inspect one of his wrists. 

"Mary… have you...Are you going to let me see him?" With each passing second that ticked on and complied into minutes Eric's wounds started to burn at his non-existent body. "Are you even going to tell him I'm here? When he can learn about the book, are you going to tell him?"

Mary put down whatever body part she had in her hand and turned to him. She was covered in his blood, seeping into her fingers and staining them crimson. There was a splatter on her face and her neck. Mary was painted in him. 

"No." She said simply. There was not a higher pitch to imply mocking or a joke. Just a fact being spoken. No, she was not going to let him have a relationship with his son. No, she was never going to tell him about who is in the book. No, he'd never see his son again. 

"Mary, no, you can't do this to me," Eric said. "You have to let me see him, you have to let me say goodbye. Mary, you have to-"

"Tell me again what I have to do and I'll close you up for a decade." 

Eric stopped immediately. If he couldn't see Gerry, then maybe he could see Mary, maybe she'd slip up, maybe they'd meet again somehow. 

And Eric never gave up that hope, with every opening of his page, every theory she wanted to talk through, he always hoped Gerry would come through the door by accident, coming home from school early or maybe Gerry would be looking through her things. Maybe he hated her and wanted to spite her. Maybe he loved Leitner like her and wanted his hands on everyone he could. 

Like his first death, Eric knew it was all over when he saw Gertrude again. A practical woman who was cooperative, a quid pro quo was arranged, put an end to him and-

"I want you to find my son." 

This version of him might have been a memory of the man named Eric Delano, but this memory wanted nothing more than Gerry's happiness. He'd give his life again and again just to know he was alright. Gertrude might not have been the best one to ask,  _ "I'm not much of a mother figure" _ , she was still a part of the Institute, a part of the Eye. She was not a reprieve, though, Gerry was the son of two servants of the Eye. This was always supposed to happen.

Death, real death, was softer than being bound. The laces were removed from his back and it no longer stung. He didn't feel the leaking anymore. His aches were smoothed out. And after, it all melted away by a cool rush like river water. Eric felt relief for the first time, and then felt nothing, and then was nothing. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I have more TMA fics if you're interested! I also have some TAZ fics and TPP fics as well! Kudos and comments are appreciated! Thanks again! Go listen to Bloodwater Ballad on Soundcloud and follow @gerrydelano on Tumblr!


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